On seasonal spirit...
The gods are not of this thing.
There is no prize for this thing.
But once we danced thus, and many and many showed great merit and took joy.
Thus and so.
There are songs of the land called Real that match our season. And there are words of our land that may be set to them. Let the dance of words commence, and in poor beginning, let those that have sung of the Silent Night mayhap sing thus:
Lightning strike, green is the night
Blight Hounds left, Vexes right
Round yon lumbering Gigaroth's child,
Kwinn in special pants, Carinde goes wild
Rend young Giggy to pieces,
Rend young Giggy to pieces.
Lightning strike, green is the night
Reklar wakes, flees in fright
Hunting party has need of his scale
Pin him down and then cut off his tail
Reklar falls and is torn
Reklar falls and is torn
Lightning strike, green is the night
Spiral bound, Ka they will fight
Round in circles they run to their fate
No-one remembered where was the back gate
Death points they count by the score
Death points they count by the score
Sephiranoth, called by some ShadowSeeker
Nobody and Nothing ever, save The Five do Feast
A Fool that walks among the Wise
